


Sirius Black is Not James Dean

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-06
Updated: 2006-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-19 02:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12400830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: James picks up a rather nasty habit from Sirius after they discover the magic of classic James Dean movies.





	Sirius Black is Not James Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

He really, really needed a smoke. 

Not a pipe, not some illegal substance, not a cigar. Just a little innocent white stick to take the edge off of the rough day he’d had. 

He’d picked up the habit from his best mate, Sirius Black, who had recently become preoccupied with old Muggle films; the ones with motorcycles and long, slick-backed hair, and carelessly taking drags from their cigarettes. They’d been at Lily Evan’s friend’s house over the summer (and what was her name again? Mandy? Mitzi? Miranda?) and they’d been watching some Muggle movie with a bloke named James Dean. James wasn’t much for “the classics,” as Melissa had called them, but Sirius ate it up. 

Sirius fancied himself to be somewhat of a James Dean. He didn’t emulate Dean physically at all, with his shaggy black hair falling gracefully into his stone-gray eyes, his jagged fringe coming down at an angle to brush across his left eye. He had the cheekbones, and he had the pout, and he purchased a dragon skin leather jacket to almost duplicate the one Dean wore in _Rebel Without A Cause_. 

James remembered laughing at Sirius for wearing it around Diagon Alley as they strutted down the street, shopping for school supplies and eyeing young women. Sirius almost purchased sunglasses, but James put his foot down and told him he was being bloody ridiculous. He figured it was a lark, and Sirius would grow out of it, but then Sirius had purchased his baby, his prized possession: his motorbike. 

Remus was, of course, opposed to it. But then again, Remus would be. He was the wishy-washy, wet blanket, who went along for the ride, regardless of how dangerous and expulsion-worthy it was. Hypocrite. He took one look at the bike hidden in the bushes near the greenhouses and chewed Sirius out for being “irresponsible, childish, obsessive, and an all-around idiot.” 

Sirius ripped Remus’ Prefect badge off his robes. 

Remus punched him in the shoulder, and they were soon scuffling on the ground like young schoolboys. 

Smiling at the memory, James leaned against the cold brick wall on the side of the Great Hall, just a few inches shy of a window. He fished around in his coat pocket to find his small carton of Muggle cigarettes and a lighter. Using a wand took away from the effect of smoking, anyway. 

_ _ _ _ _ _ 

He tried his first one the other night, as a matter of fact, when Sirius had nearly lit the bed curtains on fire when he left a smoking cigarette in an “ashtray.” Read: his Potions book. 

“What the bloody hell is so interesting about filling your lungs up with smoke, anyway?” James had asked, after dousing the fire with water from his wand.

“Dunno, mate. I hear girls really go for it,” Sirius said with a smirk. 

James rolled his eyes. “Yeah, as if you’re not beating them off with a stick anyway. Fucking idiot, you are.” 

Sirius shrugged, went over to his nightstand, and lit up another cigarette. He took out another one and offered it to James wordlessly, his eyebrow quirking. 

James began to hesitate, but then walked cautiously over to Sirius and snatched the little white stick out of his hands. 

What could one, innocent smoke harm? 

He distinctly remembered Lily Evans talking very firmly to one of her friends (was it her friend, Melinda? Dammit, _what_ was her name?) about the dangers of smoking. There had been an incident where the 5th year girls in Gryffindor had gotten hold of Meredith’s “stash” and smoked them all. Mary (was it _really_ Mary? He could’ve **_sworn_** it was Meredith) had gotten very upset, apparently, and James had seen Evans’ gorgeous head of red hair shaking furiously the next morning at breakfast. 

He lit the tip and watched the gray smoke begin to curl out of the end of the cigarette. 

“Stop analyzing it and smoke it, arse.” 

“Shut up. I’m trying to be cool about this and not make myself look like a complete fool,” James said with a smile. 

He drew the cigarette to his lips, and inhaled before it could make it past. He coughed and spluttered, dropping it in the process. Sirius swore and put it out with his shoe, sniggering quietly to himself. 

“That’s so suave. I’m sure you’re going to score with Evans when you show her that,” Sirius said tauntingly. 

“Hey, now. Evans is a classy girl, she wouldn’t be impressed that you can blow smoke rings or smoke ‘the French way.’”

Sirius waggled his eyebrows. “Smoke rings means you’re good with your tongue.”

“You’re a sick man, Sirius.” 

_ _ _ _ _ _ 

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he leaned his head against the wall. He stared up at the bleak, gray sky and watched a flock of birds fly across the stillness of it. 

He’d just smoked the last cigarette in the carton Sirius had given him. He’d just _smoked his first carton of Muggle cigarettes_. He felt so mischievous. James didn’t even consider himself to be _rough_ , or _dangerous_. That’s Sirius. He was the slightly misunderstood, handsome Quidditch player with good grades regardless of his goofing off, and hated being chided by professors and his parents. Though he had a track record with girls (it didn’t hold a candle to Sirius’), he had eyes _almost_ only for Lily Evans. Sirius’ favorite thing to do was tell regale his parents with the story that James was “saving himself for Lily.” 

His dad always rolled his eyes in a polite way; his mum just found it to be terribly romantic.

He took another long, slow, lazy drag from his cigarette before lowering his head, to find a pair of familiar-looking emerald eyes looking angrily at him. 

“What the… oh, Evans. It’s you,” James said, trying to sound blasé and not like some sex-starved teenager. 

“What exactly are you doing out here, Potter?” She asked in her exasperated voice he was sure she saved just for him. He quickly hid the cigarette behind his back. Hell hath no fury like Lily Evans’ anger. 

“Why, I’m most certain I have no idea what you’re talking about, _Miss_ Evans,” James said innocently. 

She narrowed her eyes, still suspicious. She had a right to be; he was usually up to something most of the day. The only time she could be sure he wasn’t planning to streak through the Great Hall, naked as the day he was born, was during his sleep. Even then it was iffy. 

“What’s that behind your back?” 

Shit. 

“Nothing!” He squeaked. He was so bad at being casual around her.

She sighed, and then looked behind his back. He moved slightly away from her, but she grabbed his arms and he felt all funny and stopped protesting. She grabbed the cigarette from him in shock.

_I am a pansy bitch_ , he thought to himself. He couldn’t keep his shit together even when she touched his arm. 

“A cigarette? James, I’m so disappointed,” Lily said, shaking her head. 

“But not mad?” James prompted. 

She gave him the luxury of a small smile. “Not mad. You’re _star of the Quidditch team_ and you’re smoking a cigarette. It looks bad if you get caught with that stuff.”

“Yeah, I know. I heard your anti-smoking tirade the other morning with Marge,” James said, also with a grin. 

“It’s Emmaline.”

“Er… right.” Damn. Well, ‘M’ was close to ‘E’, wasn’t it?

“So this is all Sirius’ influence, no?” 

James nodded grimly, about to flick it away. “I’ll never smoke in your presence again, I promise.”

Lily looked thoughtful for a second, and then looked at the cigarette. Before James could register a thought, she’d raised it to her lips and inhaled it slowly. She exhaled the drug and it was the only point in his life where he’d wanted to be that dangerous smoke being exhaled out of her beautiful mouth. 

He looked at her, stunned. She gave him a sheepish look, and handed it back to him. 

“I really needed that. I haven’t smoked since this summer, and I promised myself I’d kick the habit. It’s really gross,” she said with a grimace. 

James couldn’t even form a coherent response. 

“Anyway, I won’t report it to Dumbledore you’ve been bringing illegal substances to Hogwarts today, but… if I catch you again, there’ll be punishment,” she said with a wink. 

Great Merlin and Agrippa, was Evans flirting with him? James really, really hoped Sirius had more cigarettes because he needed to be punished. Badly. 

She turned to walk away, sticking her hands in her pockets. 

He looked at the cigarette with wonder, as though the cigarette couldn’t believe she’d just done that, too. He could see a faint ring of light red around the stark white cigarette. 

“I’m never, ever throwing this away,” James whispered to himself in awed reverence. He extinguished it against the wall, and then pocketed it, feeling the remnants of the ash on the butt of the cigarette coat his fingers. 

“Oh, Potter?” 

James turned around to see Evans still standing there, with her hands shoved in her pockets and her face turning pink. 

“Yeah, Evans?” Trying to make his voice sound more mature only made him look stupider. 

“You… er… don’t take this like I’m, you know, _flirting_ with you or anything… but… you sort of look like James Dean, leaning against that wall and your head back.” 

And that being said, she briskly turned and walked toward the Great Hall entrance before he could see how pink her cheeks turned. 

So it wasn’t an acceptance to a marriage proposal, or agreeing to go out with him. She thought that he, James Potter, looked like James Dean. Not Sirius Black, but James Potter looked like James Dean. 

Smoking had its perks, after all. 


End file.
